


Bad Dreams are Made of These

by MidKnight2501



Series: Fall Behind Left Behind [1]
Category: James Bond - Fandom, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Spy training, Torture, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:22:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidKnight2501/pseuds/MidKnight2501
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What's the procedure for this, then?” Silva has a smile like a very friendly shark. </p><p>“Don't-” James growls and Silva smiles even bigger, hands stopping just a second. Oh god, that's not what he meant to say- James tries to think how to back track this, what he was supposed to do in training, but it's so many years ago-</p><p>“Oh.” Silva says. “Ohhhh. James.”<br/>~~</p><p>Basically that scene, taken farther, what if it had been James' first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Dreams are Made of These

James keeps a straight face but his heart- and everything else- is leaping into his throat, into his mouth. Silva thumbs up his throat and James tries not to swallow away from the touch, tries not to give it away... Silva isn't really looking at him, not in the eyes anymore at least, his gaze is on his fingers, on James' skin, but it's also a million miles away... Somewhere else. Like a bedroom. The corner of Silva's mouth kicks up, just a little, and James counts out the timing of his breath to keep it even and keeps his eyes on the computers. 

Silva's fingers trace down, just a little, close to the scars, edging his shirt aside. James wonders if Silva can feel his pulse racing just under the skin, hopes he can't, wonders if he can take a big breath in to calm himself or if that will give it all away. 

“Mummy really hurt you.” Silva says, his thumb tracing lower, fingers just touching the top of James' shoulder under the fabric of his shirt. 

He curls his toes in his shoes to keep from moving anything else. “She's not the one who tied me to a chair.” James barks out. Silva's eyes flick up from inside his shirt, too close, legs too close, face too close- James fights against showing it and then Silva's nails just barely scratch and he sucks in a breath.

“Her loss.” Silva says, with just a hint of that distant, bedroom smile. His hands come out of James' clothes and settle on his knees, petting just a little too much, just a little too high. James sucks in another breath- can't help it- can't scramble his brain together- there's things he's supposed to be remembering for this- for where this is probably- Silva cups his cheek suddenly, fingers splayed from his cheekbone to his ear to the pulse in his throat, and James' thoughts flit away like so many small, scared fish. A fight, a gun, anything but- “Trying to remember your training?” Silva teases, scratches his fingers against James' skin, against his stubble- it makes a hissing sound. Silva palms his cheek, reaches his fingers back, over James' hair, around his ear and leans closer. “What's the procedure for this, then?” Silva has a smile like a very friendly shark. 

James tries to stare over his shoulder, to count the guards in the room from memory, the types of guns, but Silva runs his fingernails down the back of James' neck, just teasing under the collar of his shirt, and the other hand grips his knee and slowly, slowly, too fast, begins to slide up-

“Don't-” James growls and Silva smiles even bigger, hands stopping just a second. Oh god, that's not what he meant to say- James tries to think how to back track this, what he was supposed to do in training, but it's so many years ago-

“Oh.” Silva says. “Ohhhh. James.” He grins, reaches up to finger comb his white blond hair out of his face, to straighten the collar of his shirt. Like he's trying to impress James. “James.” He says again and claps his hands down on James' knees, hands flexing just a little too much. “You didn't tell me.” 

“I didn't tell you anything.” James says through gritted teeth. His hands are in fists behind his back, though. Raoul looks very happy, just thrilled, hands flexing against the dark fabric of his trousers. 

“Mmm.” Raoul says- one of his thumbs is stroking back and forth, a little hard, just so he can feel the bone of it digging into his thigh muscle. He has to think to keep from moving away or tensing up. “First time?” Silva asks and James glares. 

“No.” He snaps and Silva laughs, just throws his head back and goes for it. He doesn't believe it for a second. James closes his eyes, stills his mind, focuses- “You wouldn't be the first.” He lies and Silva shakes his head, rubbing at his watering eyes. 

“Oh, James.” Silva is looking over his shoulder again, and nodding to someone, and one of the guards has a rag over his face. Silva leans closer, palm over James' heart over the suit fabric, right in his face as the rag does its job and the room goes quiet and dark and the last little pinpoint of light is Silva's mad face. “Don't worry, I'll wait til you wake up.”  
~~

James wakes up later, when it's near dark. The light coming in the window has a sort of honey color to it. He takes stock as quick as he can, head still swimming. His hands are still cuffed behind his back, the guards are gone, Silva is very seriously typing something at one of the computers, and there's a bad ache in his jaw, on the left side. He tongues the spot, finds the special tooth but the cap is missing. His mouth tastes like metal- When he looks up Silva is looking at him, Cheshire grin again, and he's got something white pinched between his fingers. 

“Don't want you going anywhere when we get down to business.” Silva says, but turns back to the computer to finish typing... whatever it is he's typing. The screen is too far away and the keyboard has Cyrillic letters on it and whatever they drugged him with is still leaving him stupid. James shakes his head but it's still like the room is full of warm syrup. 

Silva shuts the lid of the computer with a quiet click that echoes in James' head as much as a gun being cocked. His shoulders jerk tight and he grinds his teeth down on that empty spot- his hands are fists again, pressed to the chair's seat. He's surprised he can still feel them. Silva turns in the chair, looks James up and down with that same too-much smile, then shakes his head in amused exasperation, and reaches for the drawer alongside the desk. 

“Would you like a drink?” He shows the label of the Macallan, then sloshes it back and forth a little, so loud it makes James swallow hard. Christ he wants to not remember this already, so he nods. Raoul chuckles to himself, turns back to the drawer and produces two glasses, keeps his back to James while he pours them both each two fingers worth. “You'd be surprised how much people leave, when they're in a hurry. Nothing but the important stuff, the pictures, the jewelry-” he scoffs again, recaps the scotch. “Leave the alcohol behind, like you can't reprint pictures.” He shrugs, sips his own glass, then stands with them both in hand. “You won't mind?” He gestures with the glass when he gets close.

James shrugs. “I hardly have a choice.” And he steels himself. 

Silva laughs again, quietly, and lets him sip at the glass. His knee rubs against James’, on the inside, just enough that he can't focus, but Silva doesn't spill the scotch. James drains the glass, licks his lips and refuses to look up at Silva. Silva shrugs and walks over to one of the computer towers, fiddles with it, sips at his drink, watches the color of the sunlight change on the buildings outside. James doesn't realize he's staring, that he's suddenly, overwhelmingly drunk, until he realizes- so fucking slowly- Silva has been leaning back against one of the towers and watching him back. 

“See something you like?” Silva drawls and sets his glass aside. It’s still mostly full.

“No.” James says, but it's a long drawn out no, one that sounds worried and confused. What the hell was in his drink? Silva had the same and- he looks up and Silva is grinning. 

“I just want to make sure you behave yourself.” Silva says. 

“What... What...” James can't think of the word and shakes his head again, like a dog. 

Silva sighs and slowly shrugs out of his jacket, slips it over the back of one of the chairs, then fiddles with the shoulders so the fabric hangs straight. He turns back and eyes James while he unbuttons his cuffs then sighs, affectionately. 

“You look so confused. Like one of those kitten videos online.” Silva says.

James glares, as much as he can. “Thought you didn't want me unconscious.” 

“Just....” Silva shrugs, thinks, looks at the air in the room. “Docile.” Is the word he finally settles on. He walks over, slow, meaningful, walks behind James and crouches down so James can feel his breath on the back of his neck. He smells like more scotch, like oblivion. James doesn't want to be docile, he wants Silva's face under his fists, he wants to not be here- fingers curl around his wrists, take his pulse, and Silva tsks. “So much stress, James, your heart is going like a hammer.” He humms a little, just the edges of his fingers against James' tendons, and finally takes the cuffs off. James slumps forward, just to move his shoulders and to get away, but the room swings around him like a madhouse and he winds up clinging to the chair and his knees to keep upright. Silva touches his shoulders and James flinches- the fingers press into the muscle hard, where everything hurts and James wants to scream, wants to crawl away, but then the grip lets up, lets it turn into the beginnings of a massage, and Silva is all but pressed to his back if the chair wasn't in the way. “You've got to relax, learn to let things go.” 

“Stop.” James tells him again. There's Geneva Conventions-

He doesn't even realize he's saying things out loud, or at least just that last part, until Silva is shushing him. “James, James...” He drags out the 's' like a snake. “It's all going to be alright. I'm going to take care of you, and you're tough as nails, and Switzerland is a very long way away from here.” He leans closer, from the back, all of his weight on James' injured shoulders, and presses their cheeks side by side. “It's not going to be like when the Chinese took me, I'll take better care of you than that.” Silva promises, in a whisper. “You're not going to have to whore for all of my bodyguards just so you can have something nice to eat. Just me. You're just for me.” 

James sincerely wants to throw up, wants to throw a punch, wants a bomb or a gun or something. Even that stupid little radio.

Silva gets him to his feet with big hands under his arms- the room all but goes black for James- then Silva is putting James' hands, so trusting, on his shoulders and James has to hold on or he's just going to slide to the floor. Silva is big. He's tall and his hands are huge and they're picking at the rest of James' buttons- he just watches, stupidly, letting it happen because he wants to die with his boots on, not laying on the floor, crying. 

“Mmm.” Silva says, like James is a wine, as he pushes his shirt up and off. It catches on his arms and Silva clicks his tongue. “It's like you don't want to be naked, James.” 

“I don't.” James growls. Silva has to swap his arms out and keep a hand on his hip to keep him upright in the process- James keeps trying to tip them over, to turn it into a fight, but Silva just swats his hands away, keeps laughing. 

“The Greeks used to fight in the nude, you know.” Silva teases, leans in to suck a bite under James' jaw- he uses just a little too much teeth, gets a good bite of muscle, and at the same time his hands curl around James' lower back, nails sharp, fingers strong. Silva steps closer and closer and closer and James keeps stepping back- or trying to, until he buts up into a table. “Ohh, bloody hell, look at that.”

James turns to look and Silva pushes him down on the table and kicks his legs wide. There's big hand planted in the middle of his back, heavy as an anchor, and James scrabbles at the table, claws at it, but he's not going anywhere. Silva uses his hips to keep him in place and hums something under his breath as he stretches James' arms back, unbuttons the cuffs, rips the shirt off and throws it aside. 

“How's your shoulder?” Silva asks, suddenly. James eyes the table top, the grain of the wood, and swallows the answer. Silva doesn't ask again, just reaches around between the table and James and digs his thumb into the scar, just hard enough-

“Stop- stop, it hurts, I was shot-” James howls, cracks his head on the table. 

“Shot on Mummy's orders.” Silva reminds him and drags his hands down James' back, pressing him flat. “Take the shot, it's not a clean shot, take the shot. Bang.” And he whistles, like something falling, and whatever drug Silva gave him makes him remember the water, how it closed over his head, how it filled the wound, how everything burned, and then how he didn't care anymore, just before he broke the surface. 

Silva writhes behind him, buttons popping, and that checkerboard shirt flies aside. Even knowing it's coming, when Silva reaches around his hips, fights his belt and the snap to his pants, James tries to shove up on his hands, only to have Silva knee him in the back of his thigh, collapsing him right back down again. “You don't have to make this so hard, James.” He jokes and grinds forward and groans behind his teeth. The pants lose the fight and Silva gets them down and then it's only Silva's clothes between their bodies and this is happening and James-

He snaps. Bangs his head on the table, shoves it, rears back and tries to swing around- Silva grabs him by the back of the neck and smacks him down into the table like the hand of God. His skull cracks into the wood so hard everything grows a halo and then Silva starts soothing him, hands gentle, rubbing his temples, cooing in his ear. 

“I like that you've still got spirit.” Silva tells him, kicking at his legs again, spreading them- Silva's left arm is braced down across his shoulder, and they're so close, both of them panting hard, sweat slicking them together. “I like that you’re going to fight me.” James watches his breath fog and disappear from the tabletop and tries to focus on that. “I had so much fight in me, when She told me no, I just kept up the fight. I fought and I fought and I fought and you know where that got me, James.” 

James knows, because it was in the files. He closes his eyes and tries not to picture it because that isn’t going to make it any easier. 

He has his eyes closed so hard it takes him too long to realize that Silva has stepped away to get something and he only realizes it when Silva comes back, when he’s touching him again. A hand spreads across his lower back, clearly owning him, keeping him in place. “She put me there.” Raoul says, uncapping something. “In a bunker. In the basement of a bunker. With a mud floor and a flickering light bulb and so many guards- tsk- you wouldn’t believe.” A slick finger eases into him and James bites back a groan, hates it, hates the feeling, the way his muscles feel- for a second he gets his hands under his chest but they wobble and Silva knocks him down again. “Nothing like this, like the care I’m going to take with you.” James gnaws his lips, bites his tongue, claws the wood of the table. It doesn’t stop Silva from taking him apart, finger by finger, twisting him open, pressing in and down and making him see stars. He knows it’s just his body, just buttons being pressed and it’s not his fault but he feels dirty all the same.

It’s not like all the nameless, faceless sex he has. When she’d finished shaving him that Agent, the one who shot him, they’d gone to bed and destroyed the sheets. On the way here he’d bedded Severine in the shower, against a wall, half on the bed- So many. So many women-

“Stop-“ James groans, buries his face in the table, he can hardly stand the feel of those fingers in him, making him feel good and sick and feverish at the same time. “Please-“ That space in his jaw aches- his last chance of escape and Silva took it-

“Hush, Mr. Bond. I’m going to take such good care of you.” Silva tells him, lying down, his chest to Bond’s back, his left arm overlaying James’ so their fingers are twined together. “Like I could ever really hurt you.” Silva tells him, touching himself, lining up, breath huffing out against the back of James’ ear, the side of his throat. “You’re me in that camp, handed over to the enemy- that’s what Mummy does- except I took away your illusion that there’s a way out, that there’s something you’re protecting besides yourself.” He nudges forward, just a little, just a taste of what James is going to be getting and James grinds his teeth, grimaces, seethes. “Giving up- joining me- is going to be so easy- we’re already the same, now we just have to become one.” And Silva presses a gentle kiss to his shoulder, like a blessing. “I hope,” Silva pants, breath wet against the back of his neck, hand curling around James’ hip for leverage. “I hope you’re not going to be thinking of England.”

**Author's Note:**

> Man I am going straight to hell. 
> 
> Saw Skyfall twice, stood outside arguing about "yay, movies/culture/ect are at that point where a m/m rape scene can be mentioned because obviously that would happen to lady spies" and then feeling like some kind of creep feminist because i'm yaying for equality about rape. And then someone on fandom secret had all the same yays but they also felt bad that gays and bis are still the villains in movies, which is true too. Then again if James wasn't bluffing about it not being the first time, it means James might be bisexual. Or at least Daniel Craig's James is. IDK.
> 
> Started thinking about the sequel/ect tonight. 
> 
> Also I forgot to mention I was listening to both Boom Boom by the Animals (from the gunship/Apocalypse Now scene in Skyfall) and Sweet Dreams are Made of These by the Eurthmics.


End file.
